Of Clichés and Chloe
by Elven Muse
Summary: Sometimes you think that maybe clichés aren't all bad. Other times you just want to pitch slap them.


The first time she corners you in the shower you don't know how to react. You just realise that she's naked, and you're naked, and you're standing two feet apart and she's getting closer and she's telling you how fantastic you voice is and won't leave so you blush like the virgin that you are and try to cover yourself. It doesn't escape your notice that she's staring at every part of your body that isn't pressed against cold tiles or clumsily covered by your loofah or shaking hands. So you sing- because you want to, you tell yourself, not because the way you're being stared at is leaving you weak in the knees and making you want to swoon and DEFINITELY not because you need to distract yourself from that fact. When she harmonises with you mid song you realise that you're kind of staring too, and when she hands you your towel you can't really be fucked to cover yourself properly because you care, for a moment, what this stranger thinks of you.

So you audition for her band… Group… Whatever, and she eye fucks you from the moment you walk on stage to the moment you exit it. She eye fucks you for most of the year. In practice, on stage, between classes and when she passes you on the way to the showers. she helps you with your choreography, standing too close, her breasts pressed into your back and you wonder what they'd feel like in a different setting, with less light and less clothes and less people and a completely different song being sung by the two of you; just for the two of you.  
When that Jesse kid comes along being all sweet and romantic you can't help but wonder what it would be like if she was that gentle, if her eyes were filled with adoration rather than lust. It's probably why you kiss him and not her after you win your competition, why despite the way her hips swayed across the stage in front of you and how her fingers brushed yours at the end of your performance you fell for the cliche because you didn't know if it was a cliche for you; but for a moment you have this lightness in your chest until your eyes meet hers while your lips meet his and there's nothing but crushing regret and the sting of betrayal. After that there is no eye fucking, no fingers brushing and no excuse to get close to you. Only ones to keep you as far away from her as possible. Maybe it's because of this that you sleep with Jesse, that you put all of your conviction in a cliché that you know will never last, that you tolerate his gentle caresses and whispers and carefulness. You just want him to get to it because he's being overly considerate, like you're a porcelain doll and could break at any moment (and maybe you could, you aren't sure anymore) but you just need to feel something and get her out of your head.

It's why you leave him when it's over, dressing and walking out with no words.

The second time she corners you in the shower she hasn't spoken to you in months and you were starting to doubt that she would again. But she doesn't, not really, rather pushes you against the shower wall- the wall that you hid yourself from her gaze against almost a year ago- and kisses you hard while snaking her hand down between your bodies to push two fingers inside of you. It doesn't take you long, with her melodic voice whispering obscenities in your ear and her thumb pressing hard on your clit and you come undone, clinging to her bare form with your nails digging into her shoulders and moaning loudly, too loudly in the stall, hot water running over the pair of you. She doesn't stop when you come down from your high, she keeps going, twisting and prodding and scissoring her fingers and you're coming again and again until you're a shaky, sobbing mess. When you slump to the floor of the shower, your legs unable to keep you up, you think that she'll leave but she's right next to you on the ground, holding your body close to her as you tremble and recover; her actions gentle in comparison to those of the last hour. And you think that maybe this was what you needed all along: the fierceness and the softness, the tender loving kisses pressed to the bite marks and hickeys on your neck. Or maybe it wasn't really about lust or adoration, you think as you feel your heart start to beat in time with the steady pulse you can hear beneath your ear, maybe it was just about Chloe all along.


End file.
